


As Good As When It Was New

by Najanaja



Category: Mad Max 1979, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Najanaja/pseuds/Najanaja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scene from Mad Max: this was all in the movie of course, but Miller gave them some privacy.  I didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Good As When It Was New

The mechanic was gone when Toecutter and Bubba rode into the salvage yard. It was a hot day for autumn. In the office and work sheds, the warmth was suppressing the rabble of flies. They tapped slowly at the windows, more in an imploring than insistent way. Still, nothing calmed Bubba. He was suspicious at once and set off to stalk the mechanic, slipping among the hulks of old cars. 

While Zanetti chased his demons, Toecutter went fondly to the motorcycle. The blue and silver Zed was mounted on a stand. Her lovely form was truncated, with the front forks and wheel removed. The fork components lay on a work bench. There were new tubes, so the trouble had gone past grime and grit. Zanetti had left worn dust seals on the bike, and the forks had gotten scoured by dirt. 

All the same, Bubba had a devotion to washing and polishing his motorcycle. He behaved as though it was not a machine: it was a being that should respond to his affection with a constancy of performance. Therefore, he was dependably let down. Then he stared sullenly at a leaking fork seal, and turned to his mate for help. The thought of that sad-boyish look made Toecutter laugh, as he roved the shop, finding the right tools for the work.

Hours later, he smiled as he wiped his scraped knuckles and rough fingers with a shop towel. Toecutter was remembering the standard payment he used to ask for his services, back at the old set-camp, in the red hills at the border of the Acolytes' range. He wondered if Bubba had thought of that, too. 

Well, then: time to have what he wanted, and how he wanted it. He lifted the wheeled creeper, and carried it to the office. When Zanetti came to the doorway, Toecutter kicked the low cart to him. It rolled, nudged the dusty leather of his black boots, and bounced a few centimeters back. Bubba looked down, and then he stared at Toecutter. “Something's wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong.” Toecutter felt his mouth curving, and he licked his lips. “I fixed it. Your bike's all sorted. I'll have my payment now.”

“I couldn't find the mechanic.”

“I'm your mechanic, Bubba. It's done. We'll go. But not before you've settled the bill.”

Bubba let his dark eyes turn down to the creeper. He brought his fingers almost to his jacket zipper and stopped. 

“Bubba...” Toecutter cajoled, “Will you get on it, or shall I?”

“I'll...ride it...first.” Bubba pinched at his sun-hot zipper and tugged it down. He removed his riding belt, and and hung the wide band on his shoulder, while he unbuckled his shin-armor and boots. Then he slipped out of jacket and pants, folding them, and stacked them on his boots. He wore only the dark shirt when Toecutter strolled over to him, and cupped his softly haired balls in a warm palm.

Toecutter pushed a hand under the cotton top, shoving it up to Bubba's collarbones. He rubbed the dark cross of Bubba's chest hair roughly. Then he turned the back of his hand to Bubba's chest and slid his knuckles up. The blond loved his rough skin and thick bones, and how he gripped his jaw, and pulled him into a kiss. 

Bubba licked into his mate's mouth. He brought his hands up the back of Toecutter's thighs. When he touched his arse, he squeezed the flesh and muscle, growling softly. He slid one hand over the hip, and grabbed Toecutter's cock. The smooth hand moved on the shaft, and the thumb stroked the wet glans, and the burly man hissed.

While Bubba jacked him, Toecutter massaged his mate's balls. He loved Bubba's soft body hair, and he wished it weren't so flattened by his clothes. Still it was silky and thick under his balls. He lifted the sack and firm stones in his palm, and held them to the shaft of Bubba's stiffening cock. He tugged gently, rolling them on the warm column, and holding all of the man's sex in his hand. Bubba was growing harder, longer, and leaking. He was panting. 

Toecutter dropped the man's balls and cock, and shoved at his shoulders. He pushed him down. He knelt with him as Bubba lay back on the creeper. Zanetti brought his knees to his chest while Toecutter pulled off his jacket. He found the smooth bottle of lube in a pocket. Then he spread the possum-fur behind the creeper's back wheels and knelt on it. 

Toecutter uncapped the lube and dripped oil above his mate's hole, watching it flow. As Toecutter's finger pushed the lube into the blond, he bore down, and he said, “Yes.” 

Toecutter worked more oil into Bubba by spreading two fingers, and trickling the lube onto them. The oil bled down between them, as he slid them into Bubba. It never took long for the man to open. It never took long for the man to need him fiercely. 

Toecutter lubed his cock and touched it to the now-soft ring. He pushed in slowly, so Bubba would have a long moment of stretch. Then he braced himself over Bubba, and stared at the fluttering eyelashes. 

“Bubba, move,” he whispered, and the man uncurled his hands from the creeper's sides. He set his palms on the floor, and rolled himself back and forth in short shoves. 

“Fast.” Toecutter sighed. He placed his left hand on top of Bubba's hand, and rubbed with the rhythm he wanted, until Bubba had it. The blond's hole was dragging at his cock, and pushing to the base. The wet walls were flowing over his glans, from his cock-slit to the rim, a burn that slid on his flesh.

“Fuck,” he said, and stopped, and pulled out. He needed Bubba riding him when he came. He thought Bubba would shoot hard this time, and he had to see the cum spit down. 

The blond rolled off the creeper and held it as Toecutter rolled on. Then Zanetti took his cock in hand and swung his right leg over. He mounted him, looking down, and here was an odd thing: Zanetti putting his hands on his shoulders, as though they were the grips of a bike, and moving him.

Bubba gazed at the center of his mate's collarbones: the cup of bone and the pulse contained. He kissed the hot skin. He breathed on it and kept his head bowed, his eyes in shadows under his dark, tight brows. His mouth opened, and Toecutter saw the soft tongue. 

“I love you.” Toecutter whispered, and Bubba rolled him hard, rolled him deep into the man with a loud slap. “Bubba...”

The blond tipped his head back, staring up, and Toecutter looked at the pale underside of his chin and neck, waiting for him to look down. Bubba shuddered. Toecutter shifted his gaze to the man's cock. He took it in his hand and jacked it fast, and the phone rang. It sounded as urgent as the moment, as loud as the men breathing. It trilled a long time. Then the tape-deck clacked, the machine connected and they heard the voice, hazy and sizzling. 

“I'm alone. Help me! They're dead and I'm alone. I need you. I don't know what to do; I'm alone and I don't know what to do!”

Bubba pushed down hard, and rose up. He ran to the desk, where he ripped the handset from the cradle. The cord whipped and bounced, as he brought the mouthpiece to his lips.

“You'll be OK, Johnny. We're coming. Where are you?”

Toecutter rolled off the creeper. He crouched, staring at Bubba: his pale back, his hunched shoulders, his legs braced apart. Bubba had one hand contorted on the phone, and one curled into a fist, and shoved down onto the desk. 

“We're coming. Stay in cover, off the roads. You're OK.” Bubba dropped the phone and went to his stacked suit. He dressed, while Toecutter managed to shut his pants zipper, and shove his shoulders into his jacket. 

Toecutter asked, “What did he say? Did he say dead?”

He pressed his hand over his chin and mouth. His stubble crawled under his palm. “Who is dead, Bubba?”

“We'll know soon. We have to go.” Bubba moved through the door and into the hot sun, becoming a shaft of darkness and a flash of platinum. Toecutter followed. He saw Bubba zip his jacket, so he did the same. 

Zanetti was striding toward the blue and silver bike. He swung onto her callously. Toecutter wanted to call him back. This wasn't right: too fast. They had to know more and go carefully. 

Toecutter got to his bike and took Kali in the palm of his hands. The helmet was hot, burning black, her red tongue tasting for prey. He flipped her in his hands and the dead fell out of her. He looked at them and looked at Bubba.

The silver helmet was on, and the four-cylinder motor started and revved, and Bubba would not hear. He was pushing with his boots; they were no longer on the ground, and he was moving away. Toecutter didn't know what to do. He could only slide into Kali and ride with her, letting her guide him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmm. Sorry?
> 
> I think this is rough and will work on it more, later. It's here for now. 
> 
> Bad title. Suggestions?
> 
> And M_M, I'm 4 for 5 now; got that complete Muppet into just about all my fics (this COUNTS). Will have him in Hoon Trouble in Chapter 2! :D


End file.
